


Challenge Two - Rare

by Trojie



Series: Pornalot 2016 [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7865335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Merlin wonders if he likes this best, of all the things they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Challenge Two - Rare

She always makes him ask for it.

'I just fancy it, ok? Fuck, I don't know.' Merlin scowls. 'Look. Do you want me to eat you out or not?'

Morgana laughs. 'Hey, I'm not complaining,' she says. 'What movie do you want to watch?'

'Anything,' Merlin says. He shrugs, like he doesn't care. Like he doesn't need this, or at least, something like this. 'Not as if I'll be watching, is it?.'

She looks at him shrewdly. 'Been a long week, huh?'

'Been a long ... well, you know.' He sighs. 'I just want to not think - not remember - for a while.'

Morgana ruffles his hair. 'Gimme ten minutes, then.'

***

When Merlin sees her on the couch, skirt so short he can see the lacy tops of her stockings, with her knees demurely but not quite perfectly together and her ankles, in those fuck-me boots, edging apart, he goes down on autopilot. He would have - has - dropped to his knees for her in a crowded street, a banqueting hall …

_... a cave, a throne room …_

'C'mere,' she says softly, beckoning him forwards and spreading her legs for him. She hooks one knee over his shoulder as soon as he's within range, and pulls him close.

'No knickers?' he asks, looking down, then up at her. He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and she smirks at him. 

'Do I need them?'

'Suppose not.'

She picks up the remote. 'Are you ready?'

He's been ready for what feels like days. 'Yeah,' he says, hands twitching by his sides. Something occurs to him. 'Do you want to come?' he asks. He can guess the answer, though. 

Her smile is crooked and calculating. 'Later,' she says, stroking his cheek. 'I want you to make this last. Can you do that for me?'

Merlin shivers. 'Do my best.'

'Good boy.' She catches her fingers in his hair and pulls him down. He opens his mouth, takes a breath, and closes his eyes. 

He starts slow, just long, lingering touches of his tongue, softly as he can. She's got no middle gears, Morgana - either she's on a hair trigger, or she takes ages to get off, sometimes can't at all. Right now she's calm, running her fingernails gently over his scalp, over and over, and murmuring warm things at him he can barely hear. The lace on her thigh-highs is scratchy against the skin of his cheeks and his throat when he pushes forward.

She tastes of slick sweet metal, somehow. He likes it. He likes it a lot, doing this, head between her legs and her calf muscle hard across his spine, just enough pressure that he knows she's keeping him exactly where she wants him. Sometimes he wonders if maybe he likes this _best_ , of all the things they do, although he wouldn't tell her that. 

He doesn't even know what movie she's picked, although there's laughter. And it takes him God knows how long to realise he's clasped his hands behind his back. That's ok though, she's got him caught, won't let him fall.

It's the strange reality of this life they lead, that he can trust her with his body while he can't trust her with his secrets, but they've always been this way. 

His jaw gets sore from being open so long, his face feels wet and sloppy and he doesn't care, just loves the way she's starting to quiver against him when he works his tongue carefully in places he knows she's sensitive.

Her thighs tighten and he realises she must be getting close despite his best efforts at stringing this out. He's close, too - hard as steel in his jeans, squirming in the vice-grip she's got him in.

He feels her other foot nudge in between his knees and up to his crotch. 

'Get me off,' she orders him. She pushes her leather boot up against the throbbing weight of his cock and at the same time, digs her nails into his scalp. He gasps against her at the sting and the pressure, and starts to work his tongue on her clit faster, a proper rhythm now instead of a languid pulse. Just how she used to like it when the skirts he had to duck under were heavy, long things with petticoats and stays, and the shoes he rubbed off against were leather slippers.

He comes now just like then, twitching and raw in his pants, when she cries out and clutches him to her, pulling him close for a dizzy, breathless second buried in her cunt. He floats, breathless and sated by the aeons-old familiar taste of her, the weightless feeling of orgasm just as heady as when he was young and stupid and thought it meant something, to be strong and yet serve someone else. 

He still plays at it, like this, and it hasn't lost its strange thrill, even though it's lost its deeper savour.

Morgana doesn't believe in servants and masters. She pulls him to bed like she's his anchor, and when he wakes from wherever it is he goes, they're naked, and she's holding him as if she might lose him too, somewhere in the dark. 

'They are coming back right?' she asks.

And like every other night for fuck knows how long, he pulls her back into the shadowed curve of his body and says, 'Of course they are. We just have to wait a little bit longer.'


End file.
